Into The Open Air
by Lady Dudley
Summary: The conclusion to 'Sixes & Sevens' and 'I Still Need You,' set immediately after the latter: Sherlock is off the plane and en route to check on the only thing that matters. Spoilers for series 3.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, here is the final installment to my three story arc of season 3 and it's set immediately after 'I Still Need You.' Since I'm attempting to keep it 'canon' there won't be any big declarations (in this story at least) but I hope you still enjoy it :) Some of the dialogue in this (and the second chapter) are from the _Death In Paradise_ episode "Murder On Board" (couldn't resist) and the song quoted at the start of both chapters is 'Into The Open Air' from _Brave_ - seemed to fit. Anyways, hope I don't disappoint anyone and a HUGE thank you to beautywithin22 who looked it over for me when I was still deciding whether to post it or not.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Into The Open Air**_

…  
_This love, it is a distant star  
guiding us home wherever we are  
This love, it is a burning song  
Shining light on the things that we've done_

_I try to speak to you every day_  
_But each word we spoke, the wind blew away_

_Could these walls come crumbling down?_  
_I want to feel my feet on the ground_  
_And leave behind this prison we share_  
_Step into the open air_  
…

This had not been the scenario he'd imagined when he'd first received Mycroft's phone call; this wasn't supposed to be happening, he was supposed to have dismantled Moriarty's web and Moriarty himself was meant to be dead.

Everyone was supposed to be safe.

_She_ was supposed to be safe.

Sherlock drummed his fingers absently on the armrest of the cab door as it sped towards St. Bart's. Moriarty had underestimated her importance before, it was doubtful that he would make the same mistake twice.

"How could this happen?" John asked, breaking the silence, "I thought he was dead."

Sherlock ignored him as he concentrated on willing the cab to go faster.

"What are we going to do?"

Sherlock paused in his drumming momentarily, startled out of his reverie by John's question. He hadn't even thought about his next move; he blinked, attempting to focus but it proved to be a futile exercise.

He couldn't concentrate, couldn't plan – couldn't _think_ – until he knew she was safe.

The cab had barely stopped moving before Sherlock leapt out. He was already halfway up the stairs outside the hospital before John even realised that he was gone.

John rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh as he pulled out his wallet to pay the driver.

Sherlock, meanwhile, made quick progress through the hospital; he paused for a brief moment outside the door to the morgue to catch his breath before he burst through the doors.

Molly started as he came in, her pale face and frightened eyes doing very little to reassure him that she was ok.

"Molly-" he began, taking a step towards her.

"He's back isn't he?" she said, interrupting him as she took a step to the side, putting the autopsy table between them.

"Yes, but-"

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, not quite meeting his eye.

His brow furrowed, as he attempted to close the distance between them and she once again moved out of his reach. "I didn't come here for your help," he told her flatly.

Her shoulders stooped a little at his words as she finally made eye contact with him, her wounded expression cutting him to the quick.

His own eyes widened a little as he realised how that may have sounded, "I mean, I…"

"Molly," John interrupted from behind as he came into the morgue, "you're all right."

Molly looked away from Sherlock to give John a small smile, "Of course I'm all right."

"Did you see the broadcast?" he asked gently, coming over to join the pair.

Molly bit her lip and nodded, "Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her hands.

John reached out to take one of her hands; he gave her a kind smile as she looked up and they shared a look.

"Thank you," Molly said quietly.

Sherlock watched the exchange with narrowed eyes as he looked uncomprehendingly between them.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked, giving Molly's hand a final squeeze and looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked, "Plan?"

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "Yes, Moriarty, remember?"

"I'll go get some coffee," Molly mumbled, averting her eyes and heading towards the door. Sherlock watched her go, his expression a mixture of hurt, concern and confusion.

Once she had gone he looked back at John who was looking at him expectantly.

"So?" John prompted.

"What was that thing you just did?" Sherlock demanded.

"I'm sorry?"

"The _thing_."

John's brow furrowed in confusion, "What _'thing'_?"

"This," Sherlock said, taking John's hand and attempting to mimic his meaningful look.

"Oh that," John shrugged, "I was just letting her know that I was, you know, here for her if she needed anything."

Sherlock regarded him for a long moment, "But you didn't say anything."

"I didn't have to," John replied, he glanced uneasily down at their entwined hands, "can you let go now?"

"Sorry," Sherlock muttered, dropping his hand.

John eyed him with concern, "What's the problem, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced back at the door before giving a small shake of his head, "Nothing, it's nothing."

John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock took a seat and prepared himself to enter his Mind Palace.

"It didn't seem like nothing," John commented.

Sherlock shot him a warning look before closing his eyes and slipping into his Mind Palace.


	2. Chapter 2

…  
_How did we let it come to this?  
What we just tasted we somehow still miss  
How will it feel when this day is done?  
And can we keep what we've only begun?_

_And now these walls come crumbling down_  
_and I can feel my feet on the ground_  
_Can we carry this love that we share into the open air?_  
_Into the open air_  
_Into the open air_

_This love, it is a burning song…_  
…

Two hours later, Sherlock resurfaced from his Mind Palace to find John sitting nearby engrossed in a game on his phone. He took a calming breath as he slowly readjusted to reality and scanned the room for Molly.

He frowned as he found no trace of her.

"Where's Molly?" he asked, getting to his feet and continuing to look around the empty morgue.

John glanced up from his phone, "Her shift ended so she went home."

Sherlock stared at John in disbelief, "What?"

"She went home," John repeated, regarding Sherlock with a hint of unease as the consulting detective made an exasperated noise and strode out of the morgue.

"_Now_ where are we going?" he asked, struggling to keep up with Sherlock.

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Sherlock replied in an irritated tone, "don't you have a wife to get home to?" he added, almost as an afterthought as he led the way out of the hospital.

John looked a little taken aback at his tone as Sherlock paused to hail a cab, "I'll text you the details later," Sherlock continued in a milder tone, "but, right now, I don't need your help."

Any protest John would have made to that statement was cut off as Sherlock hopped into a cab and sped off into the night.

A few minutes later, Sherlock stood outside Molly's flat and considered whether he had been too hasty in sending John away. His hand hovered above the doorbell as he contemplated what he was going to say and what her reaction might be.

His earlier visit to the morgue had been the first time he'd seen her since she tested him for drugs, now it was fairly obvious that had been a mistake. He took a steadying breath, he'd promised himself he would fix this and he would.

He couldn't stop Moriarty (again) if she was still angry with him, he needed her.

He rang the doorbell.

It took her a little longer than he was expecting for her to answer the door and, even then, she didn't look very pleased to see him.

"May I?" he asked politely, a little unnerved by her blank expression; wordlessly she stepped aside, allowing him to come in.

He waited until she shut the door behind them before taking both her hands in his and looking deeply into her eyes.

An action that only seemed to make her uncomfortable, "What are you doing?" she asked, averting her eyes.

Sherlock attempted to recapture her gaze, "I'm not sure, I saw John doing it at the morgue," he paused, "it's not working is it?"

Molly frowned and pulled her hands from his grasp, "Why are you here?"

"You're still upset with me," Sherlock said flatly.

Molly folded her arms and looked at him steadily, "Does it matter?" she asked finally.

Sherlock made an exasperated motion with his hands, "Of course it matters," he snapped, walking further into her flat, "you didn't even-" he stopped short, turning back to face her and looking caught.

Molly raised her eyebrows, "What?"

"You didn't even come to see me," he said finally, a little annoyed that it still bothered him but knowing that he owed her the truth.

Molly stiffened a little, absently hugging herself around the middle as she glanced at her feet, "You had other visitors," she replied, looking up at him challengingly.

"None that _mattered_," Sherlock scoffed.

"Not even your girlfriend?" she asked innocently.

Sherlock looked genuinely confused, "Who?"

Molly regarded him warily, confused by his confusion, "Um, Janine?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, "That was all for a case," he explained, "it wasn't real."

"It looked real enough."

"Appearances can be deceiv-" he stopped short and regarded her suspiciously, "You said _looked_ real."

Molly bit her lip, but held his gaze, "Yes."

He cocked his head to the side as he took a step towards her, "How do you know?"

"She was there," Molly said stiffly, "when I came to visit you."

"Do you _ever_ reason with your head?" he asked finally, the sting taken out of his words by the almost gentle expression on his face. "She never mattered," he continued in a low tone, taking another step towards her, "_you_ always did."

Molly hugged herself tighter and stared at the floor, unable to hold his gaze when he was looking at her like that.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Well, now that we've cleared that matter up, do you think we can return to the matter at hand?"

Molly almost laughed at his abrupt topic change and she looked up at him with a shy, teasing smile, "I thought you said you didn't need my help."

"I didn't," he replied, a ghost of smile playing about his lips, "I came to see how you were." His expression turned serious, "But I would like your help, Molly."

Molly smiled, "Always."

Sherlock smiled back, pleased that they had reached some kind of understanding and, for the first time since his return, he felt that things between them were finally…_right_.

...

**A/N: As I said, I'm trying to keep it canon so this is open ended (and a bit more hopeful than the other two) to allow for season 4. However, I plan to write other 'spin-offs' etc from season 3, so watch this space if you're interested :) Thanks for reading! x**


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